12.02.2005

This is not my house

I do love Christmas, though, and all the overly-commercialized aspects involved. I am also quite fond of Monk, so unfortunately all the anti-Christmas venom he starts spitting around this time every year is part of the package (or so I’ve been told). It is a mismatch of mentalities of epic proportions, the kind that prompts poetry from those that haven’t penned a stanza in years.

A Christmas Poem for Monk

Why oh why do you hate this season?You’ve ranted, you’ve raved, but you’ve given no reason.

You gave a recent “NO” to setting up the treebut Sunday After Turkey Day’s not “too early” for me.

You sneer at Hallmark and other holiday adsand you seem to think all carols are bad.

What, is it so terrible, all this red and green?Are jingle bells and festive smells really that obscene?

I don’t know how I landed such a grumpy geezer.Tell you what- from now on, I’ll call you Ebeneezer.

Maybe as a child you found socks in your stocking(or something just as boring that kept the day from rocking)?

But now you’re grown so have a few beersand muster up some damn Christmas cheer.

We don’t exchange gifts, I don’t ask for much(I do like some eggnog, though- it adds a special touch).

Let’s toast the holiday with garland and a tree.You could find a little spirit, and also? Here’s the key:

If you open your heart to fake reindeer and lightsSanta might help you get lucky tonight.

Monk loved the poem, but I've worked retail for longer than Pickle. AND it was at Michaels (the Christmas Killer) for 2 years. Christmas starts in August and ends in March and you hear debates on which Poinsettia looks better with which. I need therapy.

My love, I'm so glad your undying and highly impressive Christmas spirit does not come through in our fingernails.